


appreciation

by lahtays



Category: Mind Blind - Jo O'Connor
Genre: Confident!Button, F/M, Not Canon Compliant, Pre-Relationship, Protective Nick, Stealth Flirting, absolutely no clue what to tag this as lol, ambrose is a very attractive jerk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:01:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28592922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lahtays/pseuds/lahtays
Summary: Try as she might, chronic perfectionist Gracie Wiseman just can't seem to get the hang of a certain combat move. Some private tutelage is required.Nick Wiseman offers friendly encouragement. Ambrose Kim offers something significantly less friendly.
Relationships: Button/Ambrose Kim, Button/Rosy Kim, Female Button/Ambrose Kim, Female Button/Rosy Kim
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	appreciation

_You'll get it, Gracie. I mean it. I know you will._

_Sure. I know._

_Eventually._

_Thanks, Nick._

Her skin burns, muscles slick with sweat and aching all over. By now she expects Ambrose will allow her only a moment to recollect herself, and so she savours each brief second of stillness as it passes her by, head spinning, thoughts whirling, skull made impossibly heavy with exhaustion. The training mat’s weak rubber is hardly a great comfort beneath her, nor does it offer much in the way of a barrier between her own weight and the gym’s harden wooden floors below. Still, two hours into an exercise such as this could make any faint promise of softness feel like memory-foam or goose feathers by comparison. 

“Again.” Echoing throughout the empty gym, Ambrose’s voice is clear, unwavering – it hints at none of the oppressive weariness Gracie feels in herself at present. “Get up.” 

She takes a deep breath and does just that. Her instructor assumes his stance once more, wordless and unshakable as he waits for her to follow suit. The repetition, the routine, the unrelenting _monotony_ of it all – it’s a bitterly frustrating end to month that's proven more than frustrating enough on its own. Swallowing pride and more than a little self-disgust, Gracie pushes the building resentment aside as her body falls back into the all-too-familiar position; feet evenly spaced apart, knees slightly bent, fists raised at eye-level. Slack, but otherwise poised to react. 

In theory, at least. 

“Like this?” she asks, although she really needn't bother. She already knows his answer, just as surely as she knows he's going to be reacquainting her with the floor in a moment regardless. 

Perhaps the worst part is knowing – from his silent frown, if from nothing else – that her form is quite literally flawless. Textbook perfect, even. But then, that's always been her problem; perfect on paper, and very, _very_ much the opposite in practice. 

“Don't concern yourself with a counterattack,” Ambrose says instead, stepping forward. “Right now, your primary focus should be deflecting the weight of _my_ attack. Nothing more, certainly nothing less. Understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He nods, regarding her carefully for one long, thoughtful moment – and then lunges. 

If nothing else, at least he has the courtesy of knocking her on her ass _quickly_ this time. 

_You were really close that time, Button!_ Nick exclaims, optimism loud and prickling against her brain. _Maybe sleeping on it and trying tomorrow might help?_

Somehow, she gets the distinct impression she'll be too angry to sleep if she gives up now. _I'm okay, Nick. I barely even felt it this time,_ she lies. 

An echo of her brother’s uneasy laughter bounces around in her cranium, forced and not even remotely convinced. 

She rises unsteadily with a muffled groan, grateful to have done so just a second before Ambrose can order her to. “Again,” he says, and Gracie feels a sluggish autopilot take over, her body heeding the instruction long before her mind can do the same. 

The sensation lasts only until Ambrose springs forwards again and, with a stunning lack of visible effort on his part, pushes her back down against the mat for the umpteenth time and counting. Something white hot and _furious_ flashes through every last one of her synapses, and she grits her teeth to work back the profanity seething at the back of her throat; jaw clenched, gripping tight to her the last few hard-earned tethers of her composure while her thoughts drone on in a tedious loop of _It’s not that hard! What’s wrong with you? Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!_

And then a familiar voice – separate from her thoughts as well as Nick’s, cutting _through_ them, sharp and hard as steel. “Again. Up.” 

_Whew . . . as if I didn’t hate this guy enough already . . ._ Nick’s mental sigh of sympathy is laced with something cold and surprisingly contemptuous. _Please don’t beat yourself up over this, Gracie. You’re doing fine. But – maybe you should take a break, rest up . . ._

Consciously, Gracie doesn’t reply. _Sub_ consciously, and loud enough that she’s certain there’s no way Nick could have missed it, she thinks, _Of course he doesn’t believe I can do this._

No, he definitely doesn’t miss it; Justice isn't one to miss much, least of all from his little mindblind sister. 

_I never said that, Button,_ he murmurs, guilt-ridden and hurt. Or, maybe it’s her own guilt she’s feeling, projected onto him, mirrored back into her. 

_I know, Nick. I’m sorry. I love you._

_I love you, too. You don’t -_

“On your feet, Cadet.” 

She sighs – or rather, breathes a croaky exhale – and gingerly picks herself up off the floor. Willing away as much of her anger as she can manage, she replaces it with her most convincingly pleasant expression before squaring her shoulder’s and meeting the hard stare of the man before her. Absently, she can feel Nick’s apprehension, but the stark lack of sympathy in Ambrose’s gaze just makes her all the more insistent on proving herself. His dark eyes lock steady on hers, deep and dark enough to drown in. 

And she _could_ drown in them, she thinks – but then, she’s quite determined _not_ to think about such things, especially with a protective older brother sharing her headspace. 

Instead, she looks away and thinks of anything _but_. “This really does mean a lot to me. You taking the time to help me with this, I mean. I really do appreciate it.” 

Ambrose tilts his head, arching a single taunting brow. “You _‘really do appreciate it’_ . . .” he repeats, and then – to her genuine surprise – he laughs. “Is that code for something _unkind_ , Wiseman?” 

It’s code for something _very_ unkind, actually, but she doesn’t see much point in giving him the satisfaction of confirming the fact. Yielding to her frustrations right now would only serve to feel like more defeat. Gracie frowns and says nothing, and Nick – riding the wave of her frustration – only seems to seethe louder. 

“Well, your politeness is truly commendable,” Ambrose continues, sly and drawling. “A shame it’s not going to get you anywhere going forward.” 

“I - I beg your pardon?” Gracie blinks. 

Again he scoffs. “Stop playing dumb, Cadet. You and I both know you’re holding back. You’ve been holding back since the second you stepped foot in Unity.” Without warning, he lunges forwards and, just as the sun sets and the moon rises, Gracie is knocked to the floor once more. 

She has to cover her mouth to stop from screaming something that might get her expelled. 

“Why even bother getting up? Especially if you’re only going to waste _my_ time and _your_ potential.” Ambrose shakes his head as he looks down at her. Worse yet, he still looks so awfully, _infuriating_ handsome as he does it. 

Nick, whose incensed ranting had otherwise faded into mere background noise, lets out a horrified sound that she doubts a human mouth could hope to imitate. _Handsome, Gracie? HANDSOME? Seriously? Oh, we need to get you to a doctor. I think you might have a concussion or something . . ._

She’s losing control, and her lack of a mental filter is only proving it. In an unspoken storm of profanity she scrambles to her feet, energized by the molten anger coursing around inside of her. “You sound very certain about my potential, _Ambrose_ ,” she says, voice cracking along with her weathered charade of civility. As she gets into position, she can’t even bring herself to feel guilty for using his first name. Can’t bring herself to do anything but _be angry_. “By all means, tell me more.” 

Ambrose doesn’t seem offended by the use of his name; instead, it only seems to encourage him, a further bale of fuel for the quickening fire between them. “What is there to say? What could I possibly tell you that you don’t already know yourself? That you’re capable of more than this _sorry_ display? That you know exactly what you need to do to improve, and yet you won’t do it for the sake of your ego? Perhaps if you dedicated less time to maintaining that vacant mask of yours and more time contributing in class, you would have an easier time with this.” 

_Oh, just wait, Gracie. When I wake up, Ambrose Kim and I are going to have words. Explicit words. So, so many of them._

“I - _‘ego_ ’?” Gracie gapes. “Of all people, I would expect _you_ to understand why I wouldn’t want my emotions getting the better of me during something so important as this.” 

“I’m not asking you to punch a hole in the wall. _Overreacting_ to a situation is a mistake; _underreacting_ is a bigger one. This isn’t rocket science, and you _are_ better than this. Or at least I _hoped_ you were, damn it." Harshness drips from every word as he gets back into position. 

Gracie matches his stance, _and_ his venom. “I am.” 

“Then for God’s sake, _prove_ it. Give me a reaction. Fight _back_.” 

_Tell him to leave you the hell alone, Gracie . ._ . 

“I _am_ fighting back.” 

“No, you’re tiptoeing around your survival instincts because you’re afraid. Don’t appreciate that? Good. Either stop holding everything in, or get used to that feeling in your chest right now. It’s called _inadequacy_ , Wiseman, and it looks terrible on you.” 

Idly, Gracie thinks there’s a good possibility she might have yelled something at him – or, maybe she made absolutely no sound at all. It’s difficult to say, what with the blood roaring in her ears like the bottom of Niagara Falls. All she knows is, when Ambrose surges towards her again, fast as lightning, this time she doesn’t hit the floor. 

She’s still standing. Panting. _Furious_. 

Her hand grips his forearm, the other splayed out flat against his chest, halting him in place. She thinks she can feel his heartbeat skip beneath her palm. He’s been displaced, swaying just for a moment before regaining his footing like it’s nothing. It’s not nothing. It’s something which could only have happened if she’d actually, by some miracle, _succeeded_ in deflecting his attack. 

Nick’s surge of elation is palpable, almost physical in nature. _YES, Gracie! You did it!_

Dumbstruck and dumbfounded, it’s too impossible a truth to manage a response to, even telepathically. She scarcely even notices just how long she’s had her hands stilled against Ambrose’s chest, his arm, until she feels his own fingers reaching up to remove them. 

Gentle hands, not at all what she had expected. 

He regards her for a long moment, standing far closer than he ever has before, and Gracie realizes with a sinking feeling that he might actually be _more_ attractive than she’d initially thought. He watches her – watches _her_ watching him back – and then laughs, genuinely, and she thinks it feels a lot like he just knocked her onto the floor all over again; breathless and winded, utterly disorientated and thoroughly overwhelmed. 

She’s so, _so_ grateful that he isn’t a Ment right now. 

“That was _excellent_ work, Cadet,” he says, and for a moment she thinks he might reach up to put a hand on her shoulder. Instead, he clears his throat and takes a very pronounced step back. “ _Excellent_. Well done.” 

_No thanks to you, asshole,_ Nick snaps. 

Gracie disagrees, but then her dawning realization does little to cool the still smouldering embers of her anger. “You . . . you did that deliberately, didn’t you? You tried to make me angry on purpose?” 

“’Tried’?” Ambrose scoffs. “ _Succeeded_.” 

“And I suppose you’ll give me some horribly admonishing reply if I ask you _why_ , exactly?” Gracie sighs. 

He shrugs. “You needed a push.” His tone is softer, and shockingly admonishment-free. “I suspect it was long overdue.” 

"And if it didn’t work? What then, exactly?” 

“I was confident you would rise to the occasion. You’re strong, capable, persistent – the very opposite of inadequate. You could take it.” 

Gracie manages a small smile – mentally, she finds herself struggling through each line of her Abbott and Costello routine, for Nick’s sake if not for hers. Ambrose waits expectantly for an answer, and when it doesn’t come, he almost looks a little embarrassed. Gingerly, he rubs the back of his neck, and Gracie isn’t sure if it’s to soothe an aching muscle or . . . _well_. She can’t afford to think about what she _wants_ it to mean. 

“Anyway . . .” Like clockwork, his features are made stoic and vaguely irritated once again. “You’re dismissed, Cadet.” 

She frowns. “Shouldn’t we keep going?” 

Nick’s resounding _NO!_ almost makes her wince. 

“Tomorrow, yes. _Tonight_ , you should get some rest. It was a significant first step, and the next time I see you I expect you to prove to me that it wasn’t a fluke. Understood?” 

"Understood,” she nods, and tries very hard not to smile at the prospect of tomorrow. 

Without a word, Ambrose turns to leave, picking up his jacket before making for a swift retreat to the exit. Gracie watches him depart, not oblivious to the mental daggers Nick shoots him through her own eyes, and then steps forward before she can stop herself. 

“Ambrose.” 

His shoulders stiffen and he freezes in place, unable or unwilling to turn around at meet her eye. “Cadet Wiseman.” 

“About tonight . . . about what you did?” 

“Mm-hm.” 

“I really, really, _really_ do appreciate it.” 

His quiet laughter echoes throughout the gym, though it echoes on for hours longer in her own head, much to Nick Wiseman’s absolute disgust. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope yall enjoyed ! and ofc a huge and never-ending thank u to jo for creating such an amazing story <3
> 
> (also ambrose kim if ur reading this i am free thursday xx)


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